There was once a pastor of a small congregation in a colonia of Northern Mexico. A colonia is a thrown-together community.
In this particular colonia, there were about five thousand families. They lived in tiny “huts” made of discarded driftwood, ripped tarpaulin, warped and rotted plywood, and whatever else they could find to create some semblance of shelter from the frigid night air and wind. There were no floors; just the dirt itself. There was no electricity or running water. The only water available was in a 50-gallon barrel placed there once a week by the government of a city a few miles away. They placed one barrel every 5 huts or so apart. The community bathroom was a hole in the ground. The average family had 6 children in these little one-room huts, with no mattresses, and sometimes no clothes or just rags for clothes.
Needless to say, this was a very poor colonia. The church building was a large (twenty foot by thirty foot) hut set aside with patchwork benches for pews. So many locals attended the little church, that it was crowded well beyond its walls every day.
The government had been bringing them food rations while the men and women looked for work in the city. But one day, the government cut back the food rations. Children began to starve to death.
Word got to America, and a truck was sent. It arrived at the local pastor’s little hut (which was actually significantly smaller than the truck). The pastor did not know the Americans, nor did he know why they had come, or what was in the truck. He only knew that some American Christians had come to visit his humble home.
The two Americans entered the pastor’s hut, and out of courtesy, the pastor insisted they have some food. All he had was one ration of beans and three tortillas, which he served to the Americans; even though that meant his wife and children would not be eating that day. He trusted YHWH for his supply.
After the small meal in which the two American guests ate the last of the pastor’s food, they led him outside and opened the back of the truck. Inside were five thousand pounds of pinto beans (a valuable and coveted treat in the colonias).
The Americans gave the pastor a year’s supply of this valuable food; this had been the purpose of their coming. It fed that community for weeks to come.
When we give our all to YHWH and trust Him in faith; without seeing the end result, He will bless us in ways we cannot even imagine.
I reiterate that this is a true story expressed as I witnessed it in Colonia El Pipila, just outside of Tijuana, Mexico in November, 1992, just before the Tijuana flood disaster of 1993.
Trust in YWHW. He makes a way when there is no way, and sends help before you ask for it. Just be generous with what he gives you to others, and watch your storehouses overflow.
#trustGod
#begenerous
